Saltwater
by Lux Aeterna
Summary: After living at the orphanage for a length of time after the war, Seifer struggles with his feelings for Quistis, while she in turn is baffled and unsettled by her new feelings for someone who could've been the death of them all. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own FF8 or anything associated with it.

**Saltwater**

_Chapter I_

Nothing about Centra appealed to Seifer. It was all dry, hard ground, sparse forests and an endless sea of jagged, unforgiving rocks. It was like something that was on its way to dying, half-rotted, half blithely hanging onto its last bit of life, grasping and futile.

The only thing about the whole place that gave Centra a modicum of likeability was the beaches. They stretched on forever, an endless gasp of sand, bright seashells, and white noise. Seifer felt that he echoed the sea. It alternately roared and hissed and soothed, mirroring his soul. Sometimes he felt that if he roared back at the sea, he could drown out the waves, and win. How strange, to think he could win against a force as powerful as the sea. He never tried though. There was always the fear that someone would hear him, and then their laughter would be what drowned out the waves, not his own fury and frustration.

Once he had slashed at the furious water with his gunblade, relishing the hubris of such an action, but once he returned to his room in the old orphanage, dripping with salt water, and cold, he felt foolish. It was as if this feeling of foolishness was a punishment from the gods for his rage, for being so arrogant to believe that he could beat an element itself.

Tonight was different. Today he just sat, and stared, absorbing the sound. He'd always associated himself with fire, but lately it was as if the sea was his element. It was constantly shifting and raging, even if it was under the surface. Fire could be extinguished by water, not the other way round. Seifer did not like to think of himself as something that could be just put out and forgotten about. It grated.

It wasn't quite night-time. It was the point in the day where the sun had just about sunk over the horizon, sending the sky into a firework of colours and throwing everyone into a strange, short illumination. The hiss of feet upon sand caused Seifer's ears to prick, and he turned around to see a tall, slender woman walking towards him. Her feet were bare, and her long, sand-coloured hair moved around her face, picked up by the sharp sea air. The dull orange of the sunset cast her into an odd light, making her face all shadows.

Her low, soft voice flowed over him, like the tide, but there was an edge to it. He turned away from her.

"Seifer, Matron told me to tell you that food'll be ready soon, if you can be bothered to join us."

He responded in a monosyllabic sound, not having the energy to make a smart-ass remark or antagonise her in return.

"Seifer?" There was more than an edge to her tone now. Sharp as coral. She exhaled a sigh, muttered, "Fine, suit yourself", and turned to walk away back up the dunes to the orphanage. The soft crunch of the sand became quieter and quieter until Seifer was certain that she was gone. Then he lay back, still listening to the ocean, only now with an unsettled expression on his face. The angry feeling had been swiftly replaced by a vague feeling of nausea, but then for quite a while now she'd been leaving him with the humiliating feeling that he wanted to be sick, which was then followed by an acute sense of disgust.

It was the feeling he'd get after a rush of adrenaline after a battle, leaving him shaky, nervous and irritated. He sighed and rubbed his temples with a thumb and a forefinger, before heaving himself off the ground with what felt like a gargantuan effort. He turned and gazed up at the steps that led towards the old orphanage, to see Quistis nearing the top. Her feet made no noise against the stone, barefoot as she was, like some sort of vision or fairy. Seifer squinted against the dying light of the day, and followed her up. Unlike her, his large, boot-shod feet made a heavy sound as he walked on the stone steps. He felt ungainly and clumsy, conspicuous with his large frame and bright hair.

At well over 6ft, he was the tallest in the orphanage. Even as a child he'd been tall, he remembered. Not lanky, like Irvine, but large in general. At 21, he'd ended up with shoulders that seemed to him almost excessively wide, long, hefty, muscled legs and hands the size of dinner plates. In comparison to Squall and Zell, he felt like a giant. More so whenever any of the women were around. Far from feeling like an alpha male, all his size did was make him feel awkward and out of place.

Quistis, with her delicate gait and slim physique and fairy-feet, made him feel like a clumsy idiot. Seifer kept his head down as he slumped up the steps.

He paused in the courtyard, listening to the loud conversation inside the house. He couldn't make out what they were all talking about; it all sounded like noise to him. Selphie was typically talking in her high-pitched squeal of a voice, while Rinoa chattered away like a bird. Occasionally the conversation would be punctuated by a shrieking laugh from Zell, or a hoarse, knee-slapping guffaw from Irvine. Edea's low, throaty tones slipped round the other voices like silk, and Squall was predictably silent.

Seifer groaned inwardly and pushed himself onwards into the main building. He drew himself up, making himself appear taller than he already was and a hush descended over the group. Even several years after the war, they'd openly stare at him. It was a feeling that was at once normal and deeply unsettling. Seifer stared back, not aggressively, but he was assertive nonetheless. The awkward moment passed, and they all resumed their conversation, which seemed to revolve around something amusing Zell and Rinoa had done earlier in the day. Within moments of Seifer's arrival, the food was plated and everyone sat down to dinner around a large rectangular table. Choosing not to involve himself in the conversation, Seifer sat down the far end of the table, near Edea. Cid was absent that evening, having returned to the Garden to oversee some changes that were being made to the structure.

Edea wasn't very talkative that evening, but generally she never was. Lovely and serene, she was happy just to observe her children, listening to their conversations and jokes, occasionally chipping in a comment here or there. But mostly she just watched. Seifer turned to look at her, and she gave him a heart-warming smile. He felt like a child being bestowed a gift. Everyone knew how much Edea worried about Seifer. Despite his many faults, to her he always appeared as her boisterous, misunderstood golden child with a wicked pair of dimples. It was something the group as a whole preferred to overlook.

Seifer shovelled food into his mouth. It was stew tonight, a food that always comforted Seifer in a childish, primitive way that he didn't quite understand. After his long, lonely sit on the beach, hot, rich food made him feel better and warmed him from the inside. No one was paying any attention to him, and that was how he liked it. Several oblivious minutes passed, with the group's chatting becoming white noise to him. He knew it was rude to deliberately avoid conversing with them, but he didn't care. He knew that they only tolerated him out of pity and deference to Edea, and he didn't feel the need to delude himself into thinking that there was a chance of friendship there.

It was at moments like this that he missed Fuijin and Raijin the most. He paused, inadvertently, lost utterly in some happy memory of the pair of them. An unconscious smile raced across Seifer's taciturn features. He looked up, only to see Quistis looking at him, with an odd expression on her face. His smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, and he returned to inhaling his food, feeling unnerved.

Dinner passed without incident. Seifer and Zell had a brief squabble over who got seconds first (it turned out that neither one had seconds), Selphie almost fell off her hair, and Rinoa broke a plate by accident after clearing the table. Seifer was glad to have it over it, same as he was every day.

Edea threw him a concerned look for no apparent reason. He blinked at her, taken aback.

"What is it?" he asked, not unkindly.

"You seem a little... _off_ today," she said. She tilted her head, looking at him through wide eyes like a concerned mother. "Is something the matter, dear?"

Seifer shook his blond head. "No, everything's fine." Edea raised an eyebrow at him. "Really," he said. "I'm good."

Edea made a disapproving sound, but nodded. "Alright," she said. "But if you need to talk..."

"...I know where you are." He finished her sentence for her, grinning. Seifer had always had a beautiful smile. As a child it had had the capacity to melt even the hardest of hearts, a fact that he'd always used to his advantage. Edea smiled back, melting at those dimples.

"You're a good boy," she said. She turned and walked away, her dress moving across the floor like an elegant serpent. Seifer watched her walk towards her own quarters, feeling at once overwhelmingly grateful and bashful. He turned and walked back out into the courtyard.

It was dark now, and the stars were incredibly bright. The night was clear and windless. This was one of the few things Seifer liked about Centra. The nights. Unlike Balamb or Galbadia, here you could see every single star and the moon was so bright on the sea that it took his breath away. He shook his head. A few years ago that kind of talk (well, inner talk) would've caused him to wonder whether he was turning a bit strange. Things were different now though. He knew that.

The sea always sounded louder at night, he'd noticed. It was as if because the night stole your sight, every other sense became magnified by ten. He loved the crashing sound of the water against the beach and the rocks. Seifer dreaded the time when he'd have to move away from here. He wasn't sure how he'd be able to sleep without the repetitive noise of the tide.

Seifer was barefoot now, despite the sharp chill of the sea air. He padded down the stone steps and down to the beach again, just to stand for a few moments before he headed to his own room near the back of the house. There was just something about the sea air at night that exhausted him and threw him into a deep, undisturbed sleep. Nothing like the sleeping patterns he'd had at the Garden, particularly after his stint as the Sorceresses' Knight ended. He didn't like to remember those nights, where he'd tossed and turned for hours, too hot and then too cold, before finally slipping into an uneasy sleep where the faces of the dead tormented him. A shadow passed over his young-old face.

He let out a heavy sigh as his feet touched the sand. He ventured closer to the water, letting the now-icy sea water rush over his toes. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but not an unpleasant one. He wiggled his toes, childishly, a stupid smile spreading across his face.

"Are you smiling at your feet?"

Seifer jumped, and spun to the side to see Quistis standing there, looking at him with an expression that was a mixture of incredulousness and sheer amusement.

"What?" he snapped, glad that the darkness was hiding the blush that was quickly appearing on his cheeks.

"I asked if you were smiling at your feet. You look bizarre."

Seifer glared at her. "Yes, genius, that's right, I was grinning at my feet. I'm just that much of a retard." The dryness of his tone couldn't quite mask the blatant embarrassment he was experiencing.

Quistis gave a short, sharp laugh. Seifer's eyes narrowed, unsure if she was merely teasing him or being spiteful. "Why're you down here anyway?" she asked, after a moment. "I thought you'd gone to your room."

"Are you aware that you're not really anyone's big sister?" said Seifer, his tone spiteful. Immediately he regretted his words. Even with the sea masking the silence, he could sense the awkwardness hanging heavily in the air like the sword of Damocles'. He waited for a torrent of words to come spewing from the slight, blonde woman, but to his surprise she didn't say a word. This only furthered his shame. He went to say something, then stopped and returned to looking at his feet, feeling stupid.

The sound of the waves and the silence was deafening. A few years ago Seifer wouldn't have cared if he'd upset anyone, particularly not that stuck-up Instructor Quistis. If anything, he would've set out to deliberately do it. Now he felt baffled by the sick feeling in his stomach, and the blood burning in his cheeks from the knowledge that he'd potentially upset her.

Seifer turned towards her, looking stiff and awkward. He mumbled something in her direction, but it was swallowed up by the surrounding noise.

"What?" she said, her tone icy.

"Said I'm sorry," he replied, the words jumbled together in the rush to get them out.

Quistis gave a harsh, biting laugh. "I'm sorry? _You_? _Sorry_? Well, that's a first."

Seifer's brows knotted together in annoyance. "Next time remind me not to bother." He folded his arms and moved to walk to the opposite end of the beach, sick and tired of having any friendly advances spurned.

"Oh, come _on_!" Quistis cried. "Don't start pretending like you're the victim here. Look, I don't want to argue with you. I've got better things to do with my time." She sighed, resting a hand on her hip, peering at Seifer's retreating back. For such a big man, he certainly cut a pathetic figure at this moment in time. He didn't show any intention of stopping and listening to her, content to just storm off and sulk in the way he often did.

Quistis debated going after him, in some sad attempt to keep the peace. The orphanage wasn't a large place, and arguments only caused unnecessary tension in a place not big enough to support it. She wanted to slap him for being so rude to her, even though it wasn't so different from his usual behaviour.  
Admittedly, he had changed somewhat over the years. He wasn't as explosive as he used to be, or quite as obnoxious. Of course, he was still (as Zell described him) a "douche bag". Seifer was still inclined to make sarcastic comments at Squall, or deliberately antagonise Zell, or make fun of Irvine's dress-sense. However, he was fairly civil towards Selphie, who he didn't seem to hold any grudges against, and occasionally pleasant to Rinoa.  
When it came to herself, Quistis didn't really know how to take Seifer. Sometimes he'd be civil, behaving almost like a gentleman – opening doors for her and pulling out chairs, almost unconsciously. There really was something of an old-fashioned knight to him. He was brash, obnoxious, arrogant... but he was also thoughtful, intelligent, loyal and brave almost to the point of lunacy. She couldn't overlook the quiet love and respect that he sent the way of Matron, or the way she reciprocated that love. Matron often gazed at Seifer as if he was an adorable toddler, rather than a 6"2 man who was partly responsible for a terrible war and who had to turn sideways to go through doors, besides.

There had to be something to that. Matron was such a gentle, dignified person. Quistis couldn't imagine her loving someone who was undeserving of that.

Against her better judgement, Quistis sighed and followed Seifer down the beach.

"Seifer, come on, don't do this. It's unnecessary."

He turned and looked her straight in the face, his features set in angry lines. "I said sorry, didn't I," he said, it coming out more like a statement than a question.

Quistis frowned back at him. "You know, I would've thought that someone who was in the wrong would've been more pleasant about this."

Seifer threw his arms up in the air in a gesture of frustration. "Fuck, alright! I was a jerk! It was a shitty thing to say and I'm fuckin' sorry." He sighed. "God, I wasn't even thinking when I said it!"

To his surprise, Quistis' usually neutral features were suffused with a smile.

"What?" he snapped.

"It's not a big deal, it's ok," she said. Without thinking, she put her hand on his arm. His head jerked towards it, surprised. He looked at her straight again. Quistis froze, suddenly amazed at how inappropriate it seemed to physically touch Seifer in any way.

She withdrew her hand, awkwardness settling over them both. "It doesn't matter," she said, softly. "We all say things we don't mean sometimes."

Seifer nodded his expression unreadable. Quistis was surprised at how hard her heart was hammering inside her chest. She was suddenly completely oblivious to the sea, the noise, the high chattering of the seagulls. All she could focus on was the tall, golden-haired man infront of her, who was peering at her with the oddest expression. She'd always been aware of Seifer's towering physical beauty. However, she'd always overlooked it because of his often detestable personality.  
Suddenly, here on the beach, with neither of them speaking, she was overcome by him. Her head swam. She felt like an idiot. She wished she'd never followed him.

_He looks like one of those ancient statues, like a war god or something..._

There was something that was beautiful and terrifying about this man. Those piercing green eyes, visible even in the early darkness of the evening hit her like a punch in the chest, hard.

They turned away from each other. The protracted silence was too much to bear. Quistis walked slowly away from Seifer, her head swimming with thoughts of gods, green eyes and the painful awkwardness that had descended on them both. This was Seifer she was thinking about – Seifer who had almost been the death of them all, Seifer who had been a spiteful bully and a bad winner and loser. Seifer who had belittled her when she'd been an Instructor.  
Seifer who was toweringly beautiful. Who was tall, strong and who had the most striking emerald eyes she'd ever witnessed. Who was brave and endlessly loyal and in love with honour and dreams.

A vague nausea snaked its way through Quistis' stomach as she walked away. This was too bizarre and too sudden to even begin to make any sense to her.

"Instructor!"

She stopped dead, before facing Seifer slowly. He was still where she'd left him, looking baffled and beautiful.

"I'm sorry."

She couldn't resist a smile. He looked so young at that moment, even though they were the same age, and so vunerable.  
"Thank you," she said. She walked to the steps back towards the orphanage, pausing only for a moment to look back at the tall, prone figure staring out to sea.

_Like a statue._

She shook her head, as if attempting to dispel the thought, then made her way back to the house, back to her room, and hopefully back to sanity.

The nausea still hadn't quite left her, and her heart was still dancing wildly. Stoic as ever, she pushed it down. Far, far down where she didn't need to feel it.

* * *

Seifer remained on the beach for some time after Quistis left. She'd seemed startled, and he wasn't surprised. He'd spent several months struggling with his feelings for her. Actual physical touch from her had startled him too, but he thought he'd kept his cool fairly well.  
It had taken everything not to grab her and kiss her, and take her right there on the damp sand. For some reason, the fact that she'd been angry had made her all the more radiant to him. She was usually so controlled, so self-contained and dignified, that to see her scowl and snap at him was a joy. He couldn't quite explain it to himself. She was just so _different_ from the rest of them. She didn't jump around, making noise and behaving like children like Zell or Selphie or Rinoa. She also lacked the moodiness of Squall and the terrible innuendos of Irvine. She was a lady, put simply. In a sick way, she reminded him of Matron – that cool love and dignity, that intelligence, and the fact that she could look elegant even if she was wearing a potato sack.

Seifer sighed, running a hand through his closely-cropped hair. The old Seifer internally chided him for being such a "fucking pussy" and for "being retarded for some girl". He knew that the old Seifer was right. The new Seifer was too soft by a long way. A few years ago he wouldn't have even considered looking at Trepe in any way other than an annoyed one. Yeah, he'd always been aware of her looks, but hadn't everyone? She'd been such an insufferable know-it-all, and so goddamn superior that he'd always wanted to kick her rather than kiss her.

He pursed his lips and spat into the surf. He glared at the surrounding landscape. He blamed Centra for this shit. If he'd been back in Galbadia or Balamb, there's no way he would've ended up going crazy for some jumped-up ex-instructor. He could've been living it up with no worries, sleeping with who he wanted, when he felt like it, and never worrying about a thing.  
That was then, though. This was now. He wasn't that man anymore. He felt old in his soul, and tired. He hated to admit it, but he craved the feeling of being loved by someone other than Matron.

The dreaded L-word. Seifer swallowed; appalled that he'd managed to make himself break out into a sweat, even in the chilly sea air.

_Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, moron,_ Seifer told himself. _It's just not cool._

But to his disgust, it was cool. It felt cool. His chest felt full of sunshine and his stomach felt full of nails.

The L-word. Seifer wouldn't mouth it or think it, but deep inside his heart of hearts, he knew what it was he was feeling. Better to just ignore it, better to just push it deep, deep down where he couldn't feel it. Better to forget.

Just for a moment he smiled.

_It's ok, no one'll see._

He breathed in the salt air, and breathed out sunshine.

* * *

_R&R, please. =) Hope you enjoyed it, I'll be starting on the second chapter in a week or two. Thanks!_

_x_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This is written entirely for fun, I don't own these characters.

**Saltwater**

Chapter II

Over the last week or so, the weather had changed drastically. Far from the usual balmy temperature with a mild, gentle breeze, Centra was now embroiled in a hideous storm that howled through the cracks in the doors and windows and sent frighteningly large waves roaring towards the shore.

As a result, Seifer was bored stiff.

In Centra's usual climate, he was inclined to wander around the cliffs, beaches and sparse forests, exercising himself with Hyperion, taking out any monsters that made the mistake of crossing his path. Occasionally he'd go fishing, or even swimming, both being habits that he'd picked up off Raijin during the year after the war ended.  
He liked to remember those days in Balamb, ambling around the quiet town, enjoying the feeling of being ignored, and laughing at Raijin's dreadful attempts at catching fish. On the rare occasion when he did succeed at fishing, he'd inevitably catch some awful, feeble specimen that would make him sick. Seifer had tried it once, and spent the next night on the toilet, bellowing obscenities through the wall.

Being trapped inside filled Seifer with a nameless dread. Yesterday he'd attempted a walk around the coast, and had nearly been blown into the sea in the process. He'd decided afterwards that he'd rather be bored than drowned, even if it did involve being within several feet of Zell at any given time.  
He lay on his bed, legs stretched out, one arm behind his head, glaring at the white-painted ceiling. His left foot tapped relentlessly against the foot of the bed. Rain lashed at his window. The noise of it was quite pleasant, really, but the fact that it prevented him from doing what he wanted infuriated him. Gritting his teeth together in annoyance, he made little flashes of flame dart between his fingers, and then heaved an enormous sigh.

Seifer cringed inside at the sound of high-pitched squeals coming from the hall outside his room. Even with the door firmly shut he couldn't quite drown out the sound of Rinoa and Selphie's shrieking. Being in such close quarters with Rinoa over the last week had made him question what he'd ever seen in her – she seemed to have picked up on Selphie's excitable behaviour, and being cooped up inside had only made it worse. He wondered vaguely how Squall was coping with it, knowing that he found loud, shrieking women almost as irritating as Seifer did.

He swung his long legs over the bed and sat up, debating with himself whether or not to go and irritate the girls, or better still, Zell. There was still something about aggravating somebody else that gave Seifer an intense feeling of satisfaction. He didn't do it as often anymore, preferring to stay in Matron's good books. Eventually, Seifer decided to go and see what all the commotion was, rather than deliberately antagonise whoever was there.

Seifer wandered into the hall, having to duck slightly as he left his room. After all, this was a building that was intended for children.  
He spotted a considerable amount of white material spread on the floor between two opposite bedrooms, spattered with paint. Seifer raised and eyebrow and popped his head around the door.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Selphie and Rinoa spun around, looking startled. "We're re-painting the rooms," said Selphie. She tilted her head sideways slightly and smiled. "Wanna join us? It's fun!"  
Rinoa didn't say anything. She'd been understandably nervous around Seifer since he'd thrown her to Adel several years ago. Seifer still felt awkward about that, and tried his best to be pleasant to her, even if she annoyed the hell out of him a lot of the time.

"Nah, not really," said Seifer. "Painting's more of a girl's thing. In case you haven't noticed, I don't have any ovaries."

"Oh, really?" said Rinoa. "You sure could've fooled me." She smirked.

Seifer raised an eyebrow at this unexpected source of venom. "What's your problem?"

"You," snapped Rinoa. "Selphie was just being nice. You didn't have to be all sarcastic with her."

Seifer gave a short laugh. "Grow a sense of humour, for Hyne's sake. I know you've lost your personality since being with Puberty Boy, but you could at least try to be civil."

Rinoa snorted, disgusted. "I can't believe you of all people are trying to lecture others about being civil, Seifer." Her voice was getting higher with every word, growing more upset. Seifer rolled his eyes. He couldn't deal with her spoilt-brat routine today.  
"You know what, I'm sorry I fuckin' asked," hissed Seifer, turning away. Selphie was standing next to Rinoa, looking awkward. She didn't like swearing, and would always hit Zell whenever he swore. She wasn't stupid enough to try the same thing with Seifer though.

"Guys, come on, can't we all just get along?" Selphie's face was an image of torment at the sight of two people arguing.

Rinoa stepped forward, suddenly assertive. "You know, other people might have forgiven you for what you did, but I sure haven't. You strut around here like you're the boss of everyone, but you're not. You're only here because Edea feels _sorry_ for you, and because if you were let loose you'd probably get lynched!"

Seifer blinked, completely taken aback. Sometimes he forgot that Rinoa was a sorceress, but it was moments like that it was blatant. He wasn't sure what had quite happened to incur her wrath so quickly. Her pupils had dilated, turning her usually doe-like eyes a fearsome black, and her hair seemed to crackle with electricity. Seifer's head hurt. It had been a long time since he'd felt his stomach contract like that, to witness the rage of a sorceress. He felt sick.

_It's just Rinoa, it's just Rinoa. She's not __**her**__. It's just Rinoa._

And yet it was that fact that made her words so much worse.

Selphie looked horrified. "Rinoa..." she said. "Come on, stop it. The past's the past."

Suddenly, all the light and fire went out of Rinoa's face. She looked startled, and blinked like a fawn at Seifer's face, her expression baffled.  
"Seifer, I didn't mean that. It just... came out."

His expression was thunderous. He hadn't deserved that shit. He didn't feel the need to be punished for something that he'd done when he'd been manipulated, still a kid and under the control of some vastly powerful other-dimensional being. He'd suffered enough for what he'd done.

"Really," said Rinoa, looking shamefaced. "Sometimes... those things just happen. I can't control it. It just comes out."

"Bull. Shit." Seifer's face was set in a hard line. "You're just saying what everyone else was thinking." Rinoa attempted to protest but was cut off. "No, don't fucking apologize to me. I don't wanna hear it." He turned to walk away from the room, down the corridor and out into the wind-swept courtyard. He paused, then said, "However, it's great to see that you've picked up Puberty Boy's talent for being an absolute social retard."

He briefly caught a glimpse of Selphie's distraught face as he stormed off, the blood pumping violently in his temples. He felt quite bad for Selphie, irritatingly chirpy as she was. If anyone had truly lost something in the war, it had been her. She'd lost friends, real people, the place where she'd grown up. What had Rinoa lost, he wondered? The ability to spend her father's money as and when she pleased because she might have a funny turn?

He couldn't pretend that tensions hadn't been simmering for some time. The day he'd arrived, about a year and a half after the war ended, a sense of discomfort had fallen over the orphanage. Whenever he'd enter a room, the rest of them would stare at him awkwardly, and a protracted silence would descend until someone (usually Zell) would break the silence with a silly comment or chit-chat. Seifer rarely attempted conversation with the others, apart from Matron. The majority of them had made it quite clear that he simply wasn't going to be accepted by them.

Occasionally they would leave, go back to Garden or their respective homes, but after several weeks they'd always return. There was something about this house that kept calling them back. It was strange – this perpetual return to childhood. Perhaps they all came back to attempt to salvage the memories they'd sacrificed in return for using the GF's. Seifer knew that his happiest memories were here, hidden away behind doors and sandcastles and Matron's apron.

Seifer stormed down the hallway, before flinging open the door that led down towards the beach. The wind and rain whipped his face, stinging and cold. His teeth were gritted together, and he deep down he was amazed that he'd allowed himself to be made so angry by such a short dispute. Maybe it was the fact that it come from Rinoa – he had a feeling that had it been the cowboy he wouldn't have cared – made it so much worse. Admittedly, his relationship with her had been naive, childish almost, but for a brief summer it had meant something.

Raw rage and humiliation curled up like a snake in his gut. He lashed out at a nearby wall, ignoring the searing pain in his knuckles, one of which may have been broken in the effort. He bit his lip, unconsciously gripping the hand that he'd just slammed into the wall with the other, comforting himself as if he were a child. The rain was so heavy that it sounded like pebbles being pelted at the ground. Seifer ran a hand over his hair, made flat by the rain, when it usually stuck up like a bristle brush. Against his better judgement, he stormed down the stone steps towards the beach, getting as close to the sea as he possibly could without getting swept away. He suppressed the urge to take off his clothes and dive in, just to see if he could fight the treacherous current and survive. He guessed not.

However, he did pull off his large, heavy leather boots and socks, and clambered onto a nearby rock. The waves were precariously close to dragging him into the sea, but Seifer was just out of harm's way. He slumped down on the rock, and carefully dipped his feet in the water. The sea was freezing, and a murky grey. Seifer found himself grimly enjoying the effect that the icy water was having on his toes. It hurt, but in a good way. The added fear of being swept off a rock by a rogue wave and drowned just added to the bizarre excitement of it all.

Seifer felt reckless. He felt young.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Seifer turned his head, only to see a slender, fair-haired woman looking at him as if he was insane. She probably had good reason for doing so, he thought. Her hair had been whipped out of its usual tidy bun and looked wild. She would've looked beautiful, had it not been for the grotesque raincoat she was wearing. It was an unpleasant shade of burgundy, and clearly belonged to someone else. Quistis never usually wore such unflattering clothes.

"Get off that rock! You'll be killed!"

Seifer smirked at her show of concern. There was something thrilling about seeing Quistis like this – her hair askew, her clothes like that of a little boy, her face dripping with rain water. She looked a sight, but one that made him glow inside in a way he didn't like to think about.

"Seifer!" Her voice was shrill now and angry – the voice of someone who was used to having people do as they were told. "Get off that rock! Now!"

Seifer smiled lazily at her, and deliberately made a show of wiggling his feet in the water, his past anger at Rinoa forgotten. He was enjoying aggravating Quistis too much to care now, relishing the look of sheer irritation that was blooming on her face.  
"Sure you don't wanna join me, Instructor?" he said, his handsome face a wide grin. He swore he saw her eye twitch at the comment. She loathed that moniker.

"I think I'll pass," she said, her tone as icy as the grey water swirling angrily around his feet.

"You're missing out," he said.

"Somehow I doubt that." Quistis folded her arms and glared at Seifer. Selphie had come running to her only five minutes past, clearly rather upset at a dispute Rinoa and Seifer had had. Quistis had felt inwardly exhausted by it, but partly quite pleased that someone didn't feel the need to kiss up to the princess for a change.

Seifer was completely soaked by now, his coat sodden. He might as well have been thrown in the sea. It would've been funny if it hadn't been so dangerous. Typical Seifer, attention-seeking as usual. The smile on his face was almost naughty, as if the ghost of the mischievous boy that had set off fireworks on the beach so many years ago had returned for a brief moment. The memory of something so innocent felt like a stab.

"Look, Seifer, I'm not joking around. Those waves are huge. If you get swept away-"

"It'll be all your fault?" Seifer's tone was deadpan. "You're not a fucking teacher anymore, y' know. If I get drowned that's my own stupid problem, not yours. Quit acting like you're still fucking in charge."

That came out wrong. He cringed. The look on her face was one of a subdued hurt, but ever the Ice Queen, she hid it masterfully. It seemed that only few people were capable of noticing how well she hid her feelings.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, giving him the appearance of a very handsome fish. The corner of Quistis' mouth twitched, like she found him amusing.

"That came out wrong," said Seifer. He stood up, and made his way back to the steps where his boots were and where she was standing. "It came out wrong," he repeated. "I didn't mean to sound like such an asshole." Her mouth twitched again, like she was suppressing crying or laughing, he couldn't tell which. He scratched his head, trying in vain to ignore the weather and how god-awful he must have looked. "It's just been kind of a shitty day."

"So I heard."

Quistis peered at Seifer's large feet, which had turned a pale shade of blue from the freezing water. She shook her head, and a tiny smile finally appeared on her white face. "You know," she said. "You're going to get sick if you don't get your feet warm. One of the quickest ways to get flu is by having cold, wet feet."

Seifer felt bashful, and couldn't quite look her in the eye. His gaze rested on the lower part of her face. Her lips weren't their usual natural red, but a light, pinkish colour from the cold. A mixture of sea spray and rain had settled on them. She looked electric at that moment, like some fairy creature or a mermaid who was only allowed to be on land for one day. Seifer's stomach flipped uncomfortably.

"Go inside and get changed, or you'll drip all over the house." Quistis was subtly avoiding Seifer's eye too. Then she looked him straight in the face and smiled. "I got you off that damn rock without even trying." She gave a short, barking laugh then turned and walked away up the steps, not bothering to wait for him. Seifer felt enchanted and angry all at once. She _had_ gotten him off the rock without trying. Part of him wanted to go straight back to it and dip his feet back into the raging sea, but it felt all of a sudden so juvenile to him.

Plus, he was shaking. Seifer sneezed, and then raised an eyebrow. Feeling all at once embarrassed and blown away, he trudged up the cold stone steps to the orphanage, relishing being inside, basking in the buttery light of the fire.

_Shit, I hope I don't get sick._

The weather gave one last futile roar as Seifer entered the building. He sneezed again, and scowled.

_Fucking weather._

_

* * *

**  
**_

**Sorry if it was a bit short, rushed and disjointed. I've literally just finished my dissertation, so my brain's a bit fried at the moment. Thanks very much to the people who reviewed the first chapter, by the way. Much love to you all. x**


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. This is just for fun._

**Saltwater**

_Chapter III_

A burning shaft of sunlight had made its way through the tightly shut curtains of Seifer's room. He gave a feeble groan. The light had managed to rest on his closed eyelids, burning red through the thin skin. He weakly lifted a long, large hand and shielded his face from the offending ray, feeling exhausted and shaky. His head was swimming, his thoughts jumbled together and moving too quickly for him to make sense of them. He'd felt like this for several days now; weak, feverish and sick, and he had a feeling that it was entirely his own fault for messing around in the sea on a cold, horrible day.

The terrible weather had cleared up for the most part, with the exception of the temperature. A harsh, bracing chill still hung in the air, even though the sun was bright and the sea relatively calm. Seifer had remained curled up in his bed throughout, alternately clutching and casting away his blanket, veering from boiling hot to freezing cold.

Matron had been her usual ever-kind self. Since Seifer had come down with a chill, she'd been popping in and out of his room with water and orange juice, and had even tried to coax Seifer into drinking a bowl of chicken soup. However, he'd been as sulky and uncooperative as a child, desperate for attention, but refusing what was good for him. Even in the grips of a fever, Seifer remained completely stubborn, trying foolishly to deal with the illness alone.

Feeling like hell, Seifer forced his eyes open, the sunlight searing into his skull and exacerbating his already bad headache. His vision swung blearily towards his bedside table, where a jug of water and a glass had been left by Matron, presumably while he'd still been passed out from the exhaustion of being awake half the night from feeling sick. He pushed himself up onto his elbow, shakily pouring a glass of water. He held the full glass against his temple, the cold, glassy feeling pleasant against his fuzzy head. Seifer glanced around his room; it was strangely tidy, although he'd kicked most of his blanket off the bed and a pillow had slid onto the floor, crumpled and sweaty. The room smelled of sickness – sour and musty all at the same time. Seifer could smell himself too; sweat and sickness. A bad combination.

Seifer had bolted the glass of water too quickly, and with a sudden thrill of horror could feel it preparing to re-emerge. He staggered with surprising speed out of his room, launching with intent towards the nearby bathroom. To his sheer luck, the bathroom was empty and clean. He flung himself down onto his knees, and vomited into the toilet. He stayed there for some time, retching pointlessly into the bright toilet bowl. His face was blotchy; part deathly pale from the illness, and part blushed red from the effort of being sick. His throat hurt and his teeth felt scratchy. Feeling shaky, Seifer pulled himself to his feet and began to brush his teeth, spitting away the last traces of bile. He peered at himself in the mirror and shuddered. Far from looking like his usual angelic self, his skin was terribly pale, and he had dark circles under his usually bright emerald eyes. His hair was standing up, making him look as if he'd been recently electrocuted. Despite how unwell he felt, Seifer attempted to smooth his hair down, and failed. He scowled, completely un-used to being displeased at his appearance.

Suddenly Seifer felt incredibly wobbly, and made his sad little way back to his room. He gingerly lay down, and feebly pulled his blanket up around his chin, his knees tucked up in the foetal position.

He felt wretched, and lay there for an hour, not sleeping, but not really awake either. In his confused, feverish mind, he daydreamed of the sea, half-imagining that there was salt water stinging his eyes and making his tongue taste salt. In the dim corridors of his mind, she was there too, her usually perfect hair swept all out of place by the violent sea wind, and damp around the ends, her cerulean eyes piercing his own. It was a strange daydream; full of jerky movements, moving too fast, and far too intense for his exhausted mind to deal with, but it was strangely comforting too.

He heard the handle of his door click, and his eyes shot open, inexplicably terrified. What was it? A monster? A vengeful enemy? His unwell mind quailed in a way that was very un-Seifer-like.

"Morning sunshine," came a voice that sounded like music to his ears. He turned his gaze up the meet the face of a beautiful blonde, albeit a slightly rumpled one. It was Quistis, who had seemingly only woken up recently, judging by her loose and uncombed hair. She looked very pale, but so lovely that it almost hurt to look at her.

Seifer blinked at her stupidly, his mind lodged somewhere between wanting to blurt out how amazing she looked, or feeling the need to throw up.

"I heard you being sick a little while ago," said Quistis. "I thought I'd come and see how you were feeling."

"I feel like total shit," Seifer mumbled.

Quistis raised an eyebrow, letting the comment go. "You've been like this for a few days now," she said. "Don't you think you should see a doctor?"

"Oh yeah, a doctor," said Seifer, somehow managing to still be sarcastic despite how awful he felt. "Because Centra's crawling with them, isn't it? I mean, going outdoors is pretty much like wading through a sea of doctors."

Quistis' brows knotted with irritation. "Don't be an ass, Seifer," she snapped. "I just came to see if you were alright. There's no need to be so sarcastic about it."

Seifer felt somewhat embarrassed and looked away from the anger blooming on Quistis' face. He knew full-well that this was the wrong way to go about things. "Fine, fine," he muttered. "I'm sorry. I just feel like shit and being stuck in bed pretty much sucks." He gave her what he hoped was an apologetic smile. Her expression lightened and she seemed mollified.

"Do you want something to eat?" Quistis asked. "From what Matron's told me you've pretty much just been drinking water." Seifer's expression was one of disgust. "Come on," continued Quistis. "Eating something plain might make you feel better."

Seifer's expression remained unimpressed. "I threw up an hour ago. Do you honestly think that I want to eat anything right now? I can practically taste my own guts."

"A piece of plain toast might help settle your stomach."

"I don't want any."

"Well, I'm making you some anyway."

Seifer sighed, exasperated, and went to complain but Quistis was already gone, bossy and headstrong as ever. He could hear her putting bread into the toaster and felt his stomach gurgle unpleasantly. With serious effort, he dragged himself from his bed and towards the kitchen, where Quistis turned and gave him a quizzical look.

"Seifer, put some clothes on."

He was clad only in a pair of ageing boxer shorts, which had possibly once been black but now were a dismal shade of dark grey. "I'll wear whatever I damn well like," he said. "And I don't want any toast."

Seifer noticed that Quistis' look of confusion had been replaced by one of concern. She stepped away from the toaster and laid one slim, pale hand on his forehead.  
"Seifer, I really think you should get back to bed. You look dreadful."

And all of a sudden, Seifer genuinely felt dreadful. His head swam, and he could feel himself breathing heavily. His pupils were dilated, eclipsing the bright green of his iris, replacing it with a stony black. He felt sweaty and sick, like he was about a vomit, but he knew there was nothing to throw up. Without any warning, his legs gave way, and he fell heavily on to the hard kitchen floor. He heard Quistis give a yelp of shock, somewhere in the distance. He vaguely heard her say something, then felt a cold refreshing light envelope him. He was only dimly aware of the bright blue waves of colour that surrounded him as Quistis cast Cure on him.

Somehow, within moments he was back in his bed, listening, confused, to the distant mutterings that seemed to be in his room, ricocheting through his skull like bullets. He whimpered like a child, eyelids fluttering, feeling hot and cold all at once. His teeth chattered violently, and suddenly Quistis' face was over his, those cold, gentle hands on his forehead once again. He shrank back, terrified in a way he couldn't explain, loathing the feel of touch and the tingling feeling that came with it.

"Shh, it's alright, Seifer. It's me, it's Quistis."

Then he heard the words, "He's awfully sick. I'll see what I can do, however. It's a shame it's so remote out here... there isn't a doctor for miles, and Squall left on the Garden last night. If he hadn't we could've taken him to the sick bay."

Images swam in front of Seifer's eyes. The blue dome of Balamb Garden, the edge of a gunblade, the piercing eyes of a sorceress boring a crater into his soul, huge black birds bursting from trees, waves... sea and salt.

Then bright blue eyes fixing on his own. Instantly he lost his fears, and stared back into those depths, transfixed and wordless. It was her. Only her.

"Don't leave," he felt his lips struggle out the words. He fumbled for her hands, grasped them, breathing hard, feeling lightheaded and confused, but with a sense of sudden clarity that took him aback even in his feverish state.

Her other hand was back on his face, and it didn't make him feel sick anymore. He leaned into it, and saw her eyes widen in surprise, but she didn't remove it. "It's alright," she whispered. "I'm here. I won't leave."

And then Seifer heard himself muttering nonsense words, before it all started going dark around the edges of his vision, and he felt himself fall down and down into the black, with no dreams, like a dead man.

"Don't leave," was the last thing he whispered. "Don't leave."

* * *

Quistis stayed with Seifer for the remainder of the morning, watching closely as Edea worked to the best of her ability to alleviate some of Seifer's illness. It seemed to be viral infection, and Matron assured Quistis that Seifer would be fine in a few days. However, Quistis was shaken. Seifer was so typically an alpha-male, refusing to acknowledge that he was ever ill, or hurt, or upset, glossing over anything he felt with flinty sarcasm and aggression.  
Seeing him in such a state had been unnerving. He had been as weak and feeble as a child. She remembered with some discomfort his almost-black eyes staring up at her, breathing heavily, his skin glowing with sweat from the fever. Her stomach lurched at the memory. Even in such a terrible state, he had been beautiful. Her heart softened as she looked at him, lying there so utterly helpless and weak.

His usually golden-tinged skin was pale, and even in unconsciousness his expression was one of annoyance, the brows knitted together in a scowl.

Quistis sat there for some time, just watching him, feeling little jolts of horror every time she felt he wasn't breathing. Of course, he was breathing, just slowly and deeply, and she felt embarrassed at herself for her own concern, for feeling so desperately human in the sight of Seifer's prone form. She imagined the looks on the faces of her friends at the sight of her. They would think she was mad, Zell and Rinoa in particular. Irvine was indifferent to Seifer, and she remembered vaguely the subtle way that the pair of them ignored one another, two alpha males with nothing to prove, like tired lions.

In his sleep, Seifer grumbled and moved. His eyes opened, and they were dark and glassy still. The fever hadn't quite left him. He peered at Quistis, and she could just about make out the circle of piercing green around the overlarge pupil. He blinked and moved his hand as if to reach out, but stopped, an expression of child-like confusion settling over his strong features in a way that was inadvertently charming.

"Seifer, are you alright? Do you want me to get Matron? Do you want some water?"

Seifer's expression was dreamy and distant. His eyes were going in and out of focus, but remained locked on Quistis' face, as if he was trying to remember a long-forgotten thought.

Quistis repeated his name. The edges of his mouth turned up in a smile that would've made her melt, had he been less ill and pale. Seifer breathed inward, a deep shuddering breath, then focused his eyes, so much like onyx now as opposed to their usual emerald.

"You remind me of the sea," he said, delirious, smiling, happy as a mental patient.

Quistis raised an eyebrow, slightly amused by Seifer's happy stupor, but concerned nonetheless. "Pardon?"

"That day," he said. "At the sea. Your hair came down." He moved his hands around slightly, indicating something whirling. "It was all about your face like... lovely." Seifer closed his eyes, as if he was back there, and the smile spread across his face, making the corners of his eyes crinkle with the strange joy of the memory, half-awake. "Like a fuckin' mermaid."

Quistis had to bite her lips to stop herself laughing from the sheer awkwardness of the situation. Her stomach felt heavy with adrenaline. Part of her desperately hoped that Seifer would never remember this conversation, but part of her didn't.

"Come here," mumbled Seifer, his face flushed with the breaking fever. He beckoned with a large, veined hand.

"Why?" said Quistis, feeling her heart hammering somewhere in the region of her throat.

"Just cm'here." Seifer reached out with a shaking, glistening arm. The hair on his arms was the exact colour as the hair on his head – it was very blonde, and very soft-looking, like tiny threads of gold. Quistis allowed herself to be pulled closer, and stared into the grinning, feverish face of the man who'd almost killed her and her friends, his forehead beaded with droplets of sweat. His eyes were terribly bright, so bright that it tore at her very arteries to see it. He smiled still, exposing his very white teeth, clenched together with the sickness. Slowly, almost painfully slow, he moved his hand up to the back of her head, and pulled her face down to meet his.

It was the strangest kiss of her life. His lips were very warm, and his tongue was cold and dry, but Quistis felt her stomach lurch with the unexpected shock of it. It had been so slowly done, and could have been stopped so easily, but yet she'd let it happen. More astoundingly, she found herself responding, feeling her insides curl and contort at the feel of his hands on her hair, and his tongue on hers.

Somewhere in the dim hallways of her mind, Quistis remembered a time when he had been her student, when she'd been frequently exasperated and hurt by his endlessly disruptive behaviour and his childish insults towards all and sundry. Now, they were back at their childhood home, and he was sick, and she was letting him kiss her while he burnt up underneath her. His lips felt like fire, and not in the cheesy romance-novel sense of the word.

Quistis pulled back sharply, Seifer's smile dissipated. He looked very old now, and very serious. He gaze fixed on hers like a curious raven, weighing up her reaction. Quistis arranged her face in a neutral expression, and rose from her seat, smoothing down her skirt, feeling altogether very flustered.

"Well," she said, trying to reclaim the dismissive tone she'd often used on Seifer when he'd been her student. "You're clearly very sick, and I suppose I should leave you rest."

The dreamy look was gone now, replaced by a bird-like interest. His black eyes made his expression far more intense. "Okay," was all he said, his face propped up on one hand. Creakily, he lay himself back down, facing the ceiling, before his eyelids danced slowly shut, and that strange, feverish smile appeared on his parched lips. Quistis stared at him. _Lovely_ he'd said. She'd never thought of herself as lovely; just awkward, too tall and pale. A strange glow flared inside her chest at the idea of some brave knight thinking her lovely. She caught herself, remembering who this particular knight was, but despite herself the little flare didn't die. She frowned at herself.

Quistis turned and walked silently from the room. She paused, looking at Seifer one last time, his features now curiously flushed and radiant.

"The sea," he breathed, from that strange plain between waking and sleep. "It was so cold... I was so happy, tasting salt." He sighed, shuddering from exhaustion. "The mermaid..." Then his features slackened as sleep overtook him, and he lay there, a defeated Apollo, beautiful and frail. Quistis went to say something, but felt the words stop in her throat, as if muffled by sea water. She didn't even know what she would've said.

Feeling flustered, Quistis left Seifer's room, still tasting him on her lips.

_He's sick, he didn't mean that. He won't even remember it when he gets better._ She forced herself to bristle with indignation. _I can't believe that he even found that appropriate to do, sick or not._ Her anger felt half-hearted and she knew it.

_Lovely._ The word echoed in her head, full of colour, throbbing through her veins. She peered at the closed door of Seifer's bedroom and shook her head, as if to dispel the offending word. She glanced quickly around, making sure there was no one nearby, and she smiled. A real smile, that reached her eyes and made the muscles ache.

The moment passed. Quistis pushed down the glow, reminded herself that Seifer was ill, smoothed down her skirt again, and walked to the kitchen. Some housework was bound to take her mind off this. She opened the kitchen window, and inhaled the scent of saltwater, feeling it expand her lungs, pushing them outwards. A ray of sunshine hit her and the surrounding area, making everything sparkle, suddenly strangely magical. Quistis blinked, momentarily dazzled by bright glass and bright metal and the memory of bright black eyes with a ring of emerald around the pupil.

Quistis smiled again.

* * *

_Sorry about the long wait for this chapter, everyone. I've been slightly distracted by a Supernatural fic that I've almost finished and graduating university and all that jazz. Hopefully the next chapter won't be such a long wait! Reviews make me happy, by the way, heh. Many thanks to the people who reviewed the last two chapters._

_-Lux_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is just for fun._

**Saltwater**

_Chapter IV_

It was like being born. Seifer's eyes shot open, black shrinking, green widening around the pupil. He took a shuddery intake of breath and blinked several times. The proverbial fog had lifted. He was no longer ill. He didn't know how long he'd been out; a day, two days, more? He had no idea. The last thing he could remember was stumbling into the kitchen to tell Quistis that he didn't want toast, then the dim awareness of a crash and someone falling. It didn't occur to him that the person who had fallen was himself.

Seifer was lying on his stomach, one arm dangling off the side of the bed and fingers brushing the cold floor. His arm had pins and needles shooting through it, and Seifer grimaced, forcing his fingers to wiggle and experiencing the discomfort of feeling the blood start to return to the limb. With some effort he flipped himself on to his back, and stared up at the ceiling, feeling weak and aching slightly. His stomach gave a low rumble, and Seifer realised that he probably hadn't eaten in days.

He laid there for a few moments more, watching little specks of dust glint golden in the light that streamed through a crack in the curtains, before groaning and sitting up with something of a struggle. He felt the blood rush to his head and felt dizzy. Seifer ran his large hands over his face, feeling altogether unwashed and grimy. Slowly, very slowly, he eased himself out of bed, swinging his long legs with some caution onto the floor. He felt his muscles cry out from days of lack of use, and groaned low in the back of his throat. The floor was smooth against his feet, and cold. Stiffly Seifer manoeuvred himself out of his room, looking around quickly to make sure no one was around, and pottered towards the shower.

Seifer caught a brief glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror and grimaced. His hair was disordered and seemingly in dire need of a trim. There were large, dark bags under his eyes and his skin was still pale and dull. He'd lost weight too; an amount that might not show as obviously on a smaller man, but on Seifer's large frame it made him look quite gaunt. His cheekbones stood out prominently. Seifer wasn't impressed in the slightest, vain creature that he was. With one last displeased glance, Seifer turned the knobs of the shower, shook off his grim-looking, days-old underwear and stepped inside it.

The hot water felt wonderful. Seifer overloaded on the soap, determined to wash away the layer of grime and ugly that had seemingly settled over him during the days he'd been unwell. Once again he wondered vaguely how long he'd been out for. He'd lost track of what day it was completely, but at the present moment in time was more concerned with getting clean. Seifer had never enjoyed being dirty, regardless of the circumstances. Grimly he remembered the state of his long grey trench coat at the end of his time as the Sorceress's Knight. It had been torn to pieces and covered with blood stains, mud and Hyne knows what else. He shuddered slightly. He liked that coat, although it was rare that he wore it nowadays. Edea had fixed it for him, spending days sewing and patching it. She had returned it to him silently one morning, with an expression on his face that he couldn't quite read, but which made him think of apologies'. The curved smile on her lips had been so sad that Seifer felt his stomach wrench to remember it. There hadn't been any words. Just the gift of the coat, a remnant of his old self, was enough.

But he didn't wear it. Occasionally he'd see it in his wardrobe, but mostly he tried to avoid looking at it. It brought up too many painful memories. It equated two completely separate times of his life; there was Seifer, the boy soldier, the troublemaker, the bully, the boy with the romantic dream – not pleasant but harmless enough. Then there was Seifer Almasy, the Sorceress' Knight, the man with the power to wipe out whomever he pleased with the click of a finger. He had still had his romantic dream then, only it had taken on a darker form - a form that he could never quite shake, no matter how softly-spoken or quiet he became, no matter how kind he was to Edea, no matter what he felt for Quistis or anyone else. He was tarred with that brush forever now, even though it felt like a lifetime ago; a lifetime of fire and anger and hurt and screaming despair, now hushed by the howling of the waves.

Stiffly, Seifer turned off the shower, standing there naked for a moment, feeling the droplets of water slide down his face and body, before landing with a soft splash on the ceramic tiled floor. A distinct feeling of melancholy had swept over him, and he felt the need to get some form of bland food and creep back to his bed.

He towelled himself dry, before slipping back on his dirty underwear, which felt particularly unpleasant now next to his clean skin. However, he was a soldier, he'd had worse than this, and he ignored the discomfort. The orphanage was strangely quiet, and he wondered vaguely where everyone was. His feet padded softly on the cold stone floor, and the brisk temperature on his bare skin was strangely invigorating after spending days in a sweaty bedroom. He ran a hand through his hair, scowling slightly at the extra length. He liked his hair short. Longer hair only saved to make him look like an abandoned Afghan hound, as far as he was concerned.

Eyes half-shut, Seifer gave a large yawn and rubbed his face with one hand. When he opened them, he stopped dead, expression one of sheer shock. Standing there, at the foot of the sink in the kitchen was Quistis. She had her back to him, and he briefly lost himself in the graceful slope of her shoulders and the gentle arch of her lower back and tiny waist. She looked like a little doll. Suddenly Seifer was very aware that he was naked save for a grimy pair of underwear. Quistis inclined her head slightly to the right, hearing the sound of him behind her, and slowly turned. She had been smiling before she'd realised his state of undress. She blinked rapidly, and Seifer felt slightly amused that a pinkish blush had appeared on Quistis' usually pale face.

"Oh," she said. "Oh."

Seifer felt a smile spreading across his face, alleviating the gauntness of his cheeks. "I didn't realise you were in here," he said. He glanced down at his underwear. "I'm not gonna apologise. I've been ill."

Quistis opened her mouth and closed it again, as if trying to gather her thoughts. Seifer's smug grin remained fixed on his face. "I was just about to go check on you actually," said Quistis, stammering slightly.

"Meaning to ask," said Seifer. "How long was I out for?"

"Three and a half days," said Quistis.

Seifer looked shocked. "Three days?" he said. "Hyne."

Quistis nodded, the blush gone from her cheeks now. "We were very worried about you."

"We? Who's we?"

"Matron and I," she said. "Everyone else has gone back to Balamb. I stayed here to given Matron a hand around the place." She glanced around. "Sometimes I forget how much cleaning this place takes to look good."

Seifer was still mulling over the concept that he had been more or less dead to the world for almost four days. His stomach rumbled and he raised an eyebrow, feeling strangely embarrassed by what was a pretty standard bodily reaction to being without food for several days. Quistis smiled. She'd heard it.

"Want me to fix you something?"

Seifer gave a half-nod, half-shrug. He wasn't used to being waited on like this. More often than not he was inclined to make his own food – nothing special, just baked potatoes or chicken breast or some sandwiches. He felt awkward, and very naked. He shuffled from the kitchen to his room, returning moments later wearing a creased, old t-shirt in an offensive shade of blue that didn't suit him. Quistis raised an eyebrow at it.

"Is that yours?"

"I don't know," said Seifer, feeling a bit lightheaded. "It was just the closest thing to hand." He grimaced at it. "I don't think it's mine though. I'd never pick anything this hideous."

"I think its Zell's," said Quistis, eyeing it.

"Well," said Seifer. "That explains why it's so gross." He sniffed at a corner of it. "I hope he washed it. I dread to think what creatures he's carrying."

Quistis rolled her eyes and continued to make Seifer's sandwich. It amazed her that even when he looked weak, pale and skinny, he was still capable of abusing Zell, even when he wasn't even around. She cut the sandwich into sections, put it on a plate and put it in front of Seifer. He eyed it, taking apart one section of sandwich, apparently approving the combination of cheese and tomato. He pratically inhaled it, making hideous noises. He had crumbs on his chin. She couldn't help but smile.

Once he was done he smiled at her. "Nice," he said. Quistis felt an unexpected glow in her chest, and hurriedly pushed it down. It was hard not to feel that glow when he smiled at her like that. After all, Seifer was beautiful, regardless of his numerous faults. A memory flashed through her head, from only days earlier, of Seifer sweaty, confused and wide-eyed begging her not to leave, clutching at her hand, as frightened and trusting as a child. Something in her stomach thumped low, once, and she tore her gaze away from Seifer's wide, white smile and his thinned cheeks.

"Well," she said, looking flustered. "If you want another one, just ask. You look skinny."

"Don't I know it," replied Seifer, looking with disdain at one of his wrists, noticeably shrunken. He peered at Quistis through narrowed eyes. "What was wrong with me anyway? What was it that fucked me up so much?"

Quistis forced herself to meet Seifer's unblinking green gaze. "A virus," she said curtly, her old ice-queen facade firmly in place. "You probably caught it off some creature in the forests, and combined with a chill you most likely caught from the sea it became serious rather fast."

Seifer processed this information with apparent indifference. "I don't remember much," he said eventually.

"You were very ill. Of course you don't."

Seifer was looking at her with an oddly intense expression and once again Quistis felt that unwanted flare of feeling in her stomach. "I'm guessing you helped Matron look after me, right?" he said. His tone was neither accusatory, nor thankful, and Quistis felt perturbed.

"Yes," she said, smoothing down her skirt, flustered.

"I thought as much," said Seifer, his voice low. A strange half-smile lit up his hard features. "Thanks." He gave a strange little shrug. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to." It came out before Quistis could stop it, and she averted her eyes from Seifer's uncomfortable emerald gaze. He stared at her for a long moment, and the silence hung heavily in the air.

Seifer stood shakily from the table. He'd bolted that sandwich too fast and felt a bit dizzy. "I'm gonna go lay down for a while, if Matron asks," he said. Quistis just nodded mutely, still refusing to look at Seifer, struggling with emotions that she couldn't - and didn't - want to place. She watched Seifer walk creakily back to his bedroom and heard the door shut with a click. Her head was full of images of when he'd been ill – his pupils dilated, his face strangely radiant and glowing despite the sweat and the sad, sad way he'd begged her to stay.

She remembered the day he'd been in the day, his face laughing and vibrant. He was so stubborn. He was so beautiful.

_No_, her brain told her. _You're not entertaining these thoughts, so just stop. You're being a moron._

Quistis looked down at her hands, and was shocked to see that she was shaking.

* * *

Seifer could feel his stomach churning, mostly because of the sandwich. The cheese had been rich, and he had wolfed down that sandwich without giving any thought to the delicate state of his stomach. It had been a bit much at once. He lay down on his bed and rested his hands on his stomach, breathing in through his mouth and out through his nose in some sad attempt to quell the nausea that was curling in his gut. He hoped that he wouldn't throw up.

In the part of his mind that wasn't focused on not being sick, Quistis' words repeated themselves.

_I wanted to._

He hadn't expected to hear those words. In the orphanage, as in Balamb Garden, Seifer always felt like someone who was to be tolerated rather than cared for. He'd grown so used to expressions of disdain and annoyance that even now he felt taken aback by the knowledge that anyone other than Matron could feel anything other than dislike for him.

Even the soldiers who had served under him during his time as the commander of the Galbadian army had regarded him with a sort of chill distaste, as if they couldn't quite cope with the embarrassment of being commanded by a boy little older than most of their own sons or themselves. As far as Seifer was concerned, he was nobody's son. He had ignored the derision of the generals and lieutenants underneath him, treating them with the same steely disinterest and arrogance with which he treated everybody else.

It was becoming more difficult to adopt this attitude with Quistis, however. Out of the entire group, it was she who was the kindest to him, and she treated him often in an offhand manner that implied that she liked him a lot more than Seifer suspected she actually did.

Regardless of her true feelings, Seifer still heard her words echo between his ears, and couldn't help but think about that fall of bright hair, those direct blue eyes. He felt like a fool, and denied every dangerous through that his stupid heart thrust his way with each dull throb.

_She wanted to_, he thought. _She wanted to._

Those words in themselves brought on a whole different realm of nausea, albeit one that wasn't altogether unpleasant, just frightening. Against his own common sense, Seifer smiled past the sick feeling in his gut. Someone had done something for him, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. It was a warm feeling, spreading from his chest through his body and down to his toes.

Suddenly Seifer didn't feel so bad.

* * *

_So sorry for the lateness of this update! It's been a very busy few months, what with graduating and moving house and a whole bunch of other nonsense. Many thanks to everyone whose reviewed so far. =)_

_-Lux_


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is just for fun._

**Saltwater**

_Chapter V_

Quistis found herself staring mindlessly out of the kitchen window, fingers wrapped around a still piping-hot cup of tea. The vapours rose and twirled into absurd patterns before disappearing entirely as if they'd never been. Matron sat next to her, her own slim hands wrapped around a cup and smiling placidly at nothing in particular.

Outside the window, Seifer was digging. Matron had subtly hinted several days ago at wanting a new flowerbed and a new patch to grow vegetables in. She was planning on turning the orphanage back into its namesake. After the war, Matron had mostly spent the days recovering from her ordeal, and spending time with her beloved children, the children who she had so very nearly lost by her own hand.

Now she felt vital and stronger and she missed the vibrancy and raucousness that children brought to the stone house by the sea. The beach always looked strangely empty without children run up and down the shore, screaming like banshees and kicking sand at each other. With another vague smile, she recalled her children doing those same things. It was sometimes hard to imagine them any other way – in her minds eye they were always the same, always small and full of life, as opposed to the taciturn, hardened, battle-weary adults they'd become (with the exception of Selphie, who had somehow retained her youthful excitement, despite losing so many friends over the years).

Quistis became aware after several moments that Matron was looking at her, with the inquisitive, gentle expression that her face perpetually wore. Quistis twitched her eyebrow. She had become so used to being independent at Garden that she couldn't help but occasionally find herself being back at her old orphanage a surreal experience, much less than the women she sat with was her combined mother-of-sorts and former enemy.

"What is it, Matron?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing really," said Edea, her voice full of barely-restrained pleasure. She practically oozed maternal feelings. She switched her gaze to the window that Quistis had been staring at. "Seifer's looking well," she said. "I was worried that he wouldn't snap back to normal in his usual way, but he's healthy as a horse."

Quistis looked at Seifer through the pane of glass. He was wearing a faded black t-shirt, and a pair of work-trousers with suspenders, giving him a look that was overwhelmingly young and old at the same time. His cheeks had a slight flush to them from digging and there was a glow of sweat on his brow.

"He looks much better," Quistis said, cagily. Matron continued to eye her and Quistis buried her nose in her tea cup.

"He seems so much happier," said Edea, seemingly not noticing the frisson of discomfort that had settled on the conversation. Quistis nodded. Edea gazed out the window at what Quistis suspected had always been her favourite child. Quistis was convinced that she still saw him as an apple-cheeked boy, instead of the tall, imposing, broad-shouldered man he'd grown into.

"These last few years have been so hard on him," continued Edea. "He's suffered terribly, you know, after the end of the war." She laid a bejewelled hand over her heart. "My poor boy. It broke my heart to see him the way he was afterwards, so broken, so ashamed." She paused. "Not that he had anything to be ashamed of. He was only protecting me. It was my fault."

Quistis blinked. This was quite a dramatic speech for first thing in the morning.

Edea looked back at the tall blond man thumping a spade into the earth. "He was such a happy child."

Quistis raised an eyebrow at this. She remembered Seifer as a boy, and "happy" was not a word she would use to describe him. He had been boisterous and controlling, always trying to be in charge of the games they played, and then throwing a tantrum when things didn't go his way. He had been an angry, somewhat sullen child with the face of an angel, and Quistis couldn't help but feel that it was that sweet, bright face that had cemented him in Matron's heart forever as her troubled golden-boy. After all, everyone likes a screw-up, and although Quistis felt spiteful thinking it, Seifer certainly was one.

Despite Seifer's myriad bad qualities, both as a child and an adult, Quistis had to admit that he had an incredible charm that he could turn on and off like a switch. One moment he could be moody and temperamental, the next he was all one-million-watt smiles, piercing emerald eyes and so physically imposing and beautiful that even a nun would have trouble not turning into a giggling moron in his presence. It was an annoying quality to have, although Quistis felt that she had been more immune to it than most over the years.

During her years studying, training and being a SeeD at Garden, Quistis had always regarded Seifer with a sort of indifferent distaste. She remembered with a slight flinch that during that time she had been infatuated with Squall, but recalled that she had regarded the girls who threw themselves at Seifer with the same bitchy amusement that she assumed people must have felt about her chasing a boy who was never going to feel the same way. Seifer had been notorious at Garden for having a string of girls (never really girlfriends, as such, with the notable exception of Rinoa) and being one of the main causes for girls wandering around the halls with eyes reddened from crying or pawing nervously at a hicky hidden under a well-placed scarf. He had been much like any other good-looking boy - full of swagger, smarm and style, a master of provocative glances across rooms or hallways, knowing just when to turn on that brilliant smile and when to turn it off again. In short, he was a fairly exasperating person who Quistis had felt what somewhat beneath her notice.

Now, watching him digging a garden for Matron, Quistis felt ashamed of her previous opinion. Seifer was stil maddening, arrogant, bad-tempered and generally hard work, but he was also unfailingly loyal to the few people he loved, stuck to his convictions and underneath the sarcastic comments and biting insults that he threw at the unfortunate people he didn't like, there was a sharp mind. She had underestimated him.

Perhaps they all had, she thought, feeling shame-faced. Maybe the only person who ever had given Seifer the credit he deserved was Matron. Maybe if they had all considered him more than a swaggering, bullying imbecile, things wouldn't have turned out the way they had.

As if he could sense her thoughts, Seifer looked up at her through the glass pane, eyes slightly narrowed against the sunlight. Matron wiggled her fingers in a coquettish wave, smiling at her favourite boy. Quistis managed a crooked half-smile, struggling against the awkwardness of the situation. Seifer paused for a moment, as if affronted by this sudden flurry of female attention, before displaying a teeth-ridden, winning grin that reached his eyes. Quistis felt a little thud in her stomach at the sight of that white smile and hoped that Matron didn't pick up on the slight change in her pulse. It was hard to gauge what Sorceresses' picked up on and what they didn't.

When Quistis pulled her gaze away from Seifer, Matron was staring at her with a strange, almost gleeful expression. Quistis, ever the soldier, kept her face completely passive, giving absolutely nothing away, or so she hoped.

"You two have become quite fond of eachother," said Edea, now staring at her long, glassy nails.

Quistis wasn't sure if this was a question or a statement, and continued displaying her indifferent gaze. She went to speak, then thought better of it.

"You know," Matron continued, sipping at her tea, neat as a cat. "I think he was very touched by you helping him when he was unwell."

Quistis said nothing, keeping her gaze steady.

"I don't think he expected anyone to help," continued Edea, looking slightly sad. "And it's a shame." Another sip of tea. "He really is such a sweet boy when you get right down to it."

Quistis suppressed the urge to raise an eyebrow, whilst simultaneously suppressing the memory of Seifer standing on the edge of the rocks in his bare feet, briny water dripping from his laughing face. It was a memory she'd revisited more times than she cared to remember. He had been like some sea-god or a merman allowed to walk on land for one day out of ten years.

It had been a guileless smile. You didn't see many of those these days.

Quistis supposed that Seifer good count the guileless smiles he'd given on one hand since he had entered Garden. It was a sad thought. The heaviness of it seemed to pulled her towards the ground for a moment.

"Why don't you go outside and see how he's doing with my garden?" said Edea, with a slight undertone of steel in her voice. It wasn't so much a question as a gentle request.

Quistis thought about arguing, but it seemed an effort. She knew that tone although she was unsure why Matron was so keen to see her make idle conversation with Seifer about gardening. Presumably there was some deeper meaning to this, but Quistis chose to ignore the subtext.

Quistis stood up without a word, hearing the high screech of the wooden chair on the stone floor grate against the warm silence of the kitchen. She brushed down her skirt and took one last swig of her tea, still deliberately avoiding Edea's gaze. She walked out of the house towards the garden, feeling inside her a strange feeling of trepidation that had no right to be there. This was Seifer, after all. She had known him since they were both children; why did she suddenly feel this nauseating anticipation at being left in a situation where only the two of them were present?

_A flash of white teeth, that wide, laughing mouth, gulls laughing back above the surf. Guileless._

A low thud in her belly answered the memory.

Seifer turned to look at her after hearing her footsteps on the stone path. He put one hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. With the light behind her she looked vaguely angelic or rather like something from one of his less filthy teenage fantasies.

"Oh," he said. "Hi."

"Morning Seifer," replied Quistis, inwardly cursing herself for making the words sound like she was about to teach a class. She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked back and forth on her heels. "So... how's the gardening going?"

Seifer gave a short barking laugh. "Tough," he said. "There's so many weeds that it's bordering on being damn stupid. I can't believe it was left like this so long."

Quistis grinned. "I never took you for a horticulturist," she said.

"Naw," said Seifer. "I'm not. Gardening's just easy, I guess." He knelt down and ripped up another weed, revealing it's trailing roots. "Annoying, but easy." He sniffed himself. "I stink like a pig."

Quistis laughed. "I can smell you from here," she lied. "You're vile."

Seifer just laughed and Quistis felt her stomach do that not-unpleasant thud at the sight of it. It was a real smile; one that reached his eyes and make the corners crinkle. There was sunlight on his face and he was turning browner, the former whiteness of his illness finally leaving.

It was very pleasant.

Quistis stayed outside for longer than an hour, making idle chatter with Seifer, who strangely chatted back while savagely removing any offending weeds. Eventually Quistis got down on her hands and knees and started to help him, indifferent to the dirt that got under her nails or smeared on her face from wiping away sweat.

"You've got some mud," said Seifer, indicating to her left cheekbone. There was a smudge of mud like warpaint there. "On your face."

Quistis rubbed at the mark, but only made it worse. She laughed and then he laughed.

The laughter went on a little too long. The stare was a touch too intense. The smiles faded from their faces, revealing all the pent-up tension, the awkwardness and the overwhelming feeling something quite, quite wrong was happening. Embarrassment bloomed like a rose and killed the conversation dead. Quistis was vaguely aware of her heart pounding away somewhere in her throat.

Seifer went to speak, his lips parting very slightly. He must have changed his mind and said nothing. He turned back to the garden, his face set hard. Quistis said something awkward that she couldn't recall afterwards and headed back into the house, feeling overwhelmed, frightened and strangely elated.

She spent the rest of the day, and the following day, wondering what Seifer was going to say, wishing that he had said it.

* * *

Seifer lay alone in his room late that night with his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling with a frown on his face like he used to when he was a fresh-faced teenager. So many boyish disappointments about girls and exams and curfews in the Garden had been mulled over in this very same position. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears where his arms pressed against the soft conical of skin. His chest went up and down, inhale, exhale, repeat.

This disappointment was not boyish. It was hard to put it in a box, but Seifer knew that it gnawed at him and offended all the senses.

Today had been one of those bright, glaring, lovely moments in his life that were few and far between. The rare experience of laughing with another human being over something as silly and innocent as a smudge of mud on their forehead and the simple pleasure of planting things that grew. He had felt young.

Sometimes it took Seifer by surprise that he _was_ young. His soul felt so old. It practically creaked inside his chest, like it was made of haggard wood and coated in dust.

Quistis had made him feel young. She had taken him back to a more innocent time when things like war crimes and fighting and suffering and death hadn't mattered and had been things that he had only been dimly aware of. Her laughter had been like a bright, shining shard of glass cutting into him. It had been glorious.

He sat up with a jolt, surprising even himself and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. With a strange determination he stood up, opened the bleached, creaking wooden bedroom door and walked down the hallway. It was as if he was on auto-pilot. He could see the light leaking out from under the door of Quistis's bedroom.

Before he could control himself he had banged his closed fist against her door, three times, hard. Then it was like he woke up. Seifer stared at his fist with horror, then at the door, before debating running back to his room and slamming the door. He felt like how he had the first time he had joined the Sorceress; dumb, confused, spellbound and moronic.

Quistis answered the door, of course.

She looked like a breath of fresh air feels to a drowning man. Seifer gawped at her stupidly. Her hair was down, ready for bed, and hanging around her face like golden curtains. Her face was bereft of all makeup. She was pale and watchful, like a little boy. Her feet were bare. Seifer had never noticed before how tiny they were. She looked like a fairy.

She blinked at him, looking almost as shocked as Seifer felt.

"Yes?" she said. Seifer detected a slight hint of breathlessness in her voice.

Seifer said nothing, opening and closing his mouth stupidly like a fish.

Quistis cleared her throat slightly and clasped her hands behind her back in a manner that reminded Seifer unnervingly of Cid.

"Seifer, have you got something to say to me?" There was a slight tone of hopefulness in her voice that made Seifer feel somewhat giddy.

He stiffened, green eyes briefly scanning her slightly-parted lips, her cascading hair, the boyish pyjamas, the absurdly long eyelashes. He coughed and stood up straight and the light left his eyes. The old Knight.

"No," he said. "Nothing at all."

And then he turned and retreated down the corridor, back to his bedroom, straight backed and tall.

He breathed and almost felt that he exhaled sawdust from his old, battered soul.

Seifer didn't hear Quistis's door close until he closed his own. He felt heavy, like his legs were made of iron. He lay back down on his bed, but this time his hands weren't behind his head. They were covering his face.

* * *

_Sorry for the long wait, everyone. I promise it won't be as long a wait next time. Remember to review! Feedback is always great to read._

_-Lux_


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

**Saltwater**

_Chapter VI_

Sleep had evaded Seifer for much of that night. For the longest time he'd laid there, listening to the crash and recede of the tide against the sand and rocks, while thoughts did the same inside his tired head. At around four in the morning he had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, waking several times to pale light beginning to stream through the curtains.

The events that had unfolded several hours ago filled Seifer with a sort of cold dread. He struggled to believe that he had walked to Quistis's room, knocked the door and stood there like a serial killer while she had stared back at him like a deer caught in headlights. What had he even planned on doing? How did he possibly think that doing that could have even a remotely good outcome? He felt like an idiot, overwhelmed with his own stupidity.

Seifer stared for a long time at the bedroom door when he woke up. To leave this room would be to face crushing embarrassment and a level of awkwardness that would go beyond the shame that had descended on him last night outside Quistis's bedroom.

He debated staying in his bedroom for the remainder of the day, but this was a pathetic route to take and he knew it. He was a man who used to throw himself into battle without a second thought – "headstrong", they'd called him, among other less flattering things – and now he found himself cowering in his room for fear of having to cross paths with a petite blonde woman. It was laughable.

Seifer flung on a shirt and a battered pair of dark trousers that were in dire need of sewing and probably could have used a wash too. He swung open the door with more impetus than he truly felt, wincing slightly as it banged the side wall. He could hear someone playing the radio in the kitchen and the comforting clatter of plates. He could smell toast, but not burnt. Swallowing a lump in his throat he walked with a confidence that he did not feel into the kitchen, where Quistis stood, apparently tidying up a breakfast of scrambled eggs with toast.

She was dressed simply in a beige dress, different from her old ostentatious battle attire of bright orange. Her hair was tied back loosely at the nape of her neck, with several strands of hair at the front falling at the side of her face. The overall effect was one of indifferent elegance, of someone who was naturally so lovely that not even a plainly-coloured dress or a vaguely rushed hairstyle could dim her radiance.

Quistis looked at him with an expression of subdued surprise, one eyebrow very slightly raised. The morning light suited her. Pale light for a pale girl. She didn't know what to say and neither did he. Awkwardness was thick in the air, like a fog. Seifer cleared his throat.

"You made eggs?"

It was about the most feeble thing he could have said. He saw the corner of her mouth jerk slightly, as if she couldn't quite believe he'd said it either.

"Yes," she said. "Uh, do you want any? I made some toast too."

"Yeah, sure," said Seifer. He felt awkward having her make him food so often, or so it seemed. He was perfectly capable of doing it himself. He strode purposely towards the stove and reached out to take the bowl of beaten eggs from Quistis's hands.

"It's fine," he said. "I can do it."

"No, really," said Quistis, averting her eyes from his face and keeping them on the bowl. "I'll do it. You've just got up."

She didn't relinquish her hold on the bowl, but instead brought her vision slowly up to Seifer's face. It was a strange moment; the two of them with their hands on the same bowl, each one refusing to give in to the other in some bizarre power struggle. The silence between them would have been devastating had it not been for the cheery tune on the radio in the background.

Seifer could feel his heart pounding underneath his shirt. He still refused to let go of the bowl, slowly moving his other hand to fully take it from hers and place it on the sideboard next to the stove. His face was unsmiling, but he found that she let him take it. He could see a slight blush of red appearing on her light cheeks.

"You know... ah..." he began. "About last night-"

"I don't care," she said suddenly. Seifer cocked his head and frowned with confusion.

"What?"

"I don't care," she repeated, her expression strangely hard, although Seifer noticed that her voice was shaky and her breathing apparently closely controlled.

"Don't you want to know why I came to your room?" said Seifer, almost on the verge of smiling, but not quite.

"No," she said, and she raised her chin a little higher, making her look proud. "I don't know why you did and I don't much care."

A whisper of a thrill coursed through Seifer's veins at that moment. He felt reckless and stupid. In one swift movement he bent down to her face and looked her straight in those aquamarine eyes. She blinked, eyes wide and surprised.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, not quite with malice.

He didn't speak and instead pressed his mouth against hers, with no hands at her back or cupping her delicate face. She didn't move, like a statue. He pulled away, chest rising and falling with the shock of what he'd just done. It was his turn to register shock at himself, at his own foolish action.

Her face was impossible to read.

She lunged at him, grabbing his face in her hands, feeling the strong, fine bones of his jaw under her fingers and he made a small startled noise in his throat before he could wrap his arms around her slight form and drag her to him, devouring her mouth with his. He stumbled a little in the moment, and was dimly aware that he had knocked something over, but he didn't care what it was. All Seifer knew or felt at that moment in time was the feel of her mouth on his, the sense of her tongue in his mouth and the small waist underneath his hands. His heart was thudding away somewhere around his temples, in his throat. Quistis made a quiet animal sound into the kiss and Seifer felt his knees melt.

The moment was as defining as it was reckless.

Footsteps, then. Coming through the hallway to the kitchen and Seifer and Quistis let each other go, moving apart as if they had never even crossed paths. She turned quickly, and he saw her put a hand to her mouth. He looked to the floor to see that he had knocked over a butter knife, which had left a greasy streak where it had landed.

There was a flutter of dark silk, and a tiny fairy-like figure made its way into the kitchen. It was Matron, her black hair hanging down her back and her face as pale as the moon, ethereal and lovely. She smiled at Seifer and Quistis with visible pleasure and gave a sigh.

"It's such a beautiful day," she said. "I think I might go for a walk."

They were both at a loss for words, and managed an uneasy smile. Matron raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at Seifer. "Seifer, darling, why do you look so hangdog this morning?"

Seifer blinked at her, taken aback. Presumably, as a former sorceress, she had an inkling that things weren't as they seemed. "No reason," said Seifer, who as an afterthought flashed his most charming smile, a veritable wall of straight, white teeth to keep Matron out of his proverbial castle. "I just knocked over something and almost broke it."

"Oh?" said Matron, still looking at him quizzically

"Yeah... I almost destroyed the butter dish, but I only knocked over the knife."

"That's good then," she smiled. Then she said dreamily, "I do like that butter dish."

She didn't speak much after that, choosing instead to make herself a cup of tea and staring out of the kitchen window down towards the beach, occasionally repeating what a lovely day it was. Quistis smiled thinly and avoiding Seifer's gaze.

It was excruciating, but the moment had been so brief, so swift, that it was almost as if it had never happened. It seemed utterly nonsensical. Quistis touched her cheeks with a delicate hand, checking to see if they were as warm as she felt they were, but they seemed normal. Her stomach churned in a way that she didn't recognise at the memory of that recent, fleeting moment. She swore she could still taste him on her tongue.

Time dragged like a heavy corpse across a sand dune. Matron made pleasant chit-chat and discussed various vegetables that she wanted planted in her new plot. After half an hour, Quistis stood up from the kitchen table suddenly, unable to deal with the whirlwind of conflict inside her head and the hammering of her heart inside her ribcage. She felt herself flush at her sudden behaviour, and look from Matron to Seifer.

"I feel quite warm," she said. "I'm going to go get some air."

She didn't wait for a response, instead choosing to leave the kitchen swiftly. She followed the long, winding, stone path down to the beach and stood there, barefoot, on the sand, feeling the millions of tiny grains between her toes. She pulled her hair from its ponytail and let it fall down past her shoulders, blown in the wind. She ran a long, pale hand through the free strands, and shut her eyes, recalling the shocking moment that had occurred this morning.

Quistis couldn't deny to herself that she hadn't imagined a moment such as that over and over again. Many times she had lain awake at night, knowing that he was just down the hall, lying in a bed of his own much like hers. She'd lost count of the dreams she'd had where she'd felt his weight on top of her, and his tongue in her mouth. She had inevitably woken from those dreams feeling a maelstrom of confusion, shame and embarrassment, as well as an acute sense of dismay. Seifer was a person who several years ago she had been on the verge of killing, who at one point she could have said that she almost hated.

Now she was having the sorts of dreams about him that she associated with the poorly-written romance novels that Rinoa read.

But there was something about this that went beyond the usual carnal yearnings that everybody felt when they were lonely. Over the last few weeks she had grown to enjoy his company, but not just that – to _crave_ it. Ever an expert actress, an Ice Queen, Quistis never let on how she would hang on Seifer's every word, how she had to hold back the true extent of her laughter at his jokes and sarcastic asides.

Last night where he had come to her room, knocked, done nothing and then walked away had weighed heavily on her mind. Sleep had been difficult, and she still felt tired. She had wanted nothing more than to drag him into her bedroom and pull him down with her, just to feel those large hands on her body and to watch him sleep, face flushed and radiant.

Quistis heard footsteps coming down the stone steps and inwardly groaned. She didn't have to look to know who it was – she knew that heavy tread far too well. She wouldn't look at him. She couldn't. Doing that would involve an affirmation of feelings that more than anything she wanted to crush.

Seifer didn't speak for a few moments, but she could sense his tall form standing behind her and see the long shadow he cast across the sand. Eventually, she turned to look at him, craning her neck up to stare him straight in the face with a stare so rude that she was surprised that he didn't flinch to see it.

"Well then," she said.

Seifer just looked back at her with a strangely calm expression on his face. He didn't seem to be experiencing the tumultuous riot of feelings that she was, and that made her angry in a way that she struggled to understand.

"You're angry at me," Seifer said. There was no humour in his voice, nor cockiness. It was disconcerting.

Quistis's lovely face twisted into a snarl that was almost feral. "You're damn right I'm angry at you," she said. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

Seifer raised an eyebrow at her and his mouth twitched as if he was fighting back the urge to laugh.

"Don't you dare laugh at me," Quistis snapped. She crossed her arms. "Well? What have you got to say for yourself?"

Seifer raised a hand and brushed a silky strand of light hair behind one of Quistis's little ears. "Someone as pretty as you doesn't need to be so mad all the time," he said.

Quistis slapped his hand away and gaped at him, incredulous. "Don't think for one second that your pitiful lines are going to work on me, Almasy," she said, in a tone as cold as liquid nitrogen.

Seifer's trademark grin worked its way back onto his face. "Ever the fucking instructor," he said, in a voice that was full of suppressed mirth.

Quistis went to say something cutting, feeling a surge of fury burst inside her chest. But it was fury merged with something else. It was a different kind of feeling that flowed from the chest outwards, wordless.

"I'm not going to say sorry you know," said Seifer, with a hint of his old obnoxiousness. "I'm glad that I kissed you." He stepped closer to her, so that they were only inches apart on the yellow sand. "I'd do it again too."

"Shut up," Quistis hissed.

"Even now," said Seifer. "You're still a fucking Ice Queen." This time there was no humour in his voice, or cockiness, or warmth. He had mirrored her to disarming effect and Quistis looked him straight in those sea-green eyes. They were narrowed in the way he used to do when he was a young boy, when he wanted to antagonise because he had been antagonised first. When he wanted to hurt. Quistis felt herself blanche with embarrassment. Why did she have to be so cold all the time, at the merest hint of feeling? Who ever benefited from her awkward nature and her coldness?

Seifer threw her one last look of contempt. "You know, I feel sorry for you," he said. And then he turned away from her and walked back the way he came, up the winding stairs while the sea howled at his back.

Pity. There was no worse fate for her. Quistis watched him walk away from her up those steps and felt a fist squeeze her heart.

Quistis was sick of being pitied.

* * *

Seifer stormed back to his room and slammed the door hard. Usually this reaction would illicit an instantaneous response from Matron, but nothing. She was nowhere to be found. The stone house was lonely and large and the walls loomed up around him, a prison, mocking him.

He felt like a fool. The events that had occurred this morning in the kitchen had been at once thrilling and apparently hugely stupid and misjudged. He thought she felt the same way he did. All those endless little moments, every lingering look that had made his stomach jump, each dream, each accidental touch, the quiet companionship he felt they shared, alone in this house.

Apparently it wasn't enough. In her eyes he was still the same selfish, doomed bastard who was responsible for the deaths of countless people, and for the suffering of many more. He was nothing. Seifer felt a tremendous wave of self-pity crash over him and felt overwhelmed with shame.

He slumped on the bed and hung his head.

It seemed that there was truly no redemption for a fallen knight.

* * *

Quistis spent the majority of the day outdoors. The concept of heading back into that house, that large, silent house, bereft of the comforting noise of children. That kitchen, the place where Seifer had pressed his lips to hers, and held her at the base of her spine. The memory made her stomach flip but it also incited a feeling of general nausea and discomfort.

She managed to drag out her walk for several hours, until the bright sun became lower and the sky turned darker, shortly before the sun disappeared from sight. The beach was cold though, and her feet were becoming uncomfortably chilled against the fast-cooling sand. Over and over in her head she had replayed the conversation, and recalled the dark look in Seifer's eyes as he'd reminded her of what a cold, sad human being she was, how incapable she was of experiencing normal human feelings.

But it wasn't that she was incapable of feeling those things. She felt them as strongly as anyone else. The problem was being incapable of showing them. Beyond normal human acts of kindness, the same as anyone would do, Quistis hit a mental roadblock. She had never been the sort of girl to drape herself over a boy and gaze stupidly into his eyes, or kiss in public, or anything like that. She wasn't Selphie or Rinoa. In many ways she was a lot more like Matron. She was subtle, not ostentatious.

Quistis made her way back into the house, every step loaded with dread and embarrassment. To her surprise, the only light burning in the house was from Seifer's room. There was no indication that anyone else was in the house. Quistis wondered vaguely where Matron was, but then again it wasn't unknown for her to disappear for hours at a time without telling anyone, either off with Cid or on one of her long walks. Now that her children were grown, she didn't feel the need to stay in the house all the time. Quistis felt simultaneously relieved and anxious – she had dreaded answering any questions that Matron may have directed her way, but she was also full of apprehension at being alone in the house with Seifer, with no one else for company.

She opened the door slowly, wincing at each creak and whine the hinge let out, and slowly tip-toed into the kitchen. She turned on a lamp and just stood there for a moment, today's scenes running through her head for what felt like the millionth time. She felt exhausted by it. If it had been possible for a brain to ache, hers would have.

It was almost dark now, and the house was full of shadows. Quistis debated making herself some food, but decided against it, choosing not to linger in the kitchen or anywhere else in the house. She made her way to her room stealthily and shut the door, again feeling perturbed and irritated by the creaking hinge.

She changed her clothes and brushed the stubborn leftover sand off the soles of her feet and stared at the door. It was as if her hearing was hyper-sensitive. Quistis listened hard for any signs of movement from the room down the hall, wondering if Seifer was doing the same. She doubted it.

This was Seifer, after all.

Quistis took a brush and ran it through her wind-swept hair. She wasn't sure why she was attributing all these feelings of kindness and gentleness and depth to Seifer. It seemed insane to imagine these things about someone who only several years ago was one of the most odious people she had ever met. Now he seemed different, but the key word there was "seemed". Quistis knew that logically people just didn't change overnight, but was several years on overnight?

It was true. He was different. While the old arrogance and obnoxiousness still exited on some level inside that man, it was nowhere near as potent. There was a strange silence about him now. It was hard to imagine that the same man who wielded a hyperion, who had slashed open Squall's face, who had thrown Rinoa to a 20ft tall sorceress was the same man who would go outside on sunny days and plant flowers and vegetables for the woman he considered his true mother, the same man who was pleasant, if sarcastic, friendly and so, so beautiful that it made her head spin.

It was as if there were two Seifer's.

Quistis felt tired from pondering this. She felt tired by a lot of things. She was tired of acting solely on logic and getting nowhere. She wanted to do something reckless and wild and thrilling. She wanted to feel things, to truly _feel_ them.

Quistis put down the brush shakily and looked at herself straight in the mirror. Her hair was still a tangled mess from the sea air, but her skin glowed and her eyes were bright. She looked young in a way that she desperately wanted to feel.

She turned her head towards the door again and walked towards it, before opening it quickly and walking into the hallway.

She stopped dead and suppressed a shocked gasp. In the hallway was Seifer, who had seemingly just headed out of his own room in the same whirlwind. He looked at her, his eyes wide but not necessarily surprised. His expression was hard to read. She went to speak, but the words lodged in her throat.

He walked towards her, slowly, and she could hear his feet on the cold stone floor. A sliver of light from inside his room settled over him, making him look like something from a dream and not quite tangible.

Quistis let out a breath, as if she'd been holding it in for days. She shut her eyes, then opened them.

"I'm sorry," she said. It came out as a whisper. He was inches from her. She looked up and lost herself in those emerald eyes. Seifer wasn't smiling.

"I know," he said.

Then he dipped his head, brought himself down to her diminutive height and kissed her.

All her thoughts of confusion and worry evaporated and Quistis wrapped her arms around his back. He broke the kiss.

"I want you to stop thinking," he said. There were no words. She nodded mutely. He took her hand and led her into his room. Quistis's head swam with all the possibilities that were to erupt with the choice she was about to make, but she shut off her brain.

She stopped thinking and just lived. She breathed him in as he pulled her clothes over her head. She gasped as he bent down to kiss her neck. She arched into him.

He stopped, for one moment, and looked at her. A smile spread across his chiselled features and she felt shy, and dropped her gaze. "You're so beautiful," he breathed. "And you don't even know it."

After that it was all a skin-coloured haze. He was more beautiful than she'd ever imagined, all slim, toned limbs and strong arms. His movements were deft and practised, not the awkward fumblings she'd experienced as a teenage SeeD in an unlocked dorm. He wasn't gentle but he didn't hurt her. She let herself by carried away by him and was mesmerized. Quistis had forgotten how wonderful it was, to be this close with another human being, to feel him inside her, gasping into the curve of his shoulder and dragging her nails down his back with an animalistic need that belied her usual stoic nature. Hearing him moan and seeing him bite his lip as she pushed him on to his back was enough to inflame her. She watched his face contort with pleasure as she rocked back and forth, feeling his hands grip her hips, before pulling her into his lap, just so he could kiss her and groan into her mouth.

He was not how she imagined him to be. He was far, far more than that.

Finally Seifer reached his climax, that great arching peak of pleasure, and cried out, clutching her to him, tangling his hands in her hair, tiny droplets of sweat on his brow. He stared at her, both of them panting and kissed her once, twice on the forehead, before untangling himself from their sweaty limbs and lying down on the bed, side by side, arms around eachother and seemingly lost for words. He kissed her countless times on her lips and face and gave a deep sigh.

Seifer smiled at her and Quistis found herself smiling back. They were radiant and glowing in the dim light of the small lamp that Seifer kept in his room. Quistis felt elated and dizzy with happiness. For the first time in her life, it seemed, she had done something purely out of feeling rather than grim logic and it was wonderful. She ran a hand down Seifer's side, and that soft touch seemed to be just as full of emotion as what they had just done. He pulled her as close to him as she could possibly be and ran a hand down her face. The smile had left his face now and was instead replaced by an expression that was nothing if not intense, but altogether very, very calm at the same time.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then thought better of it. She studied his lips.

_Like some god come down to earth to spend one night with a mortal_, Quistis thought, dreamily.

Seifer gave a contented sigh and wrapped his arms around her, so that her head was resting on his chest. It was the most beautiful moment of his life, he decided. Within minutes he could feel her breathing slow, and he realised that she was asleep.

"I love you, you know," he muttered at her sleeping form.

It was so much easier to say when she couldn't hear. Seifer smiled to himself and shut his eyes, feeling a gentle wave of sleep pass over him, limbs heavy and languid.

It was like a sort of redemption. Seifer slept well for the first time in a long time.

* * *

_Again, sorry for the wait for this chapter! I've been fussing over it for weeks, and now it's finally done. I'm sort of just making it up as I go along, but I've got a more concrete idea of what'll happen now, so hopefully it'll be updated faster now. Thanks for all your lovely reviews everyone. =)_

-_Lux_


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters._

**Saltwater**

_Chapter VII_

The next few weeks raced by in a blur of heartbeats and lazy mornings and late evenings. The morning after the night before had been something of an ordeal, with neither Seifer nor Quistis being thoroughly able to comprehend the reckless, impulsive act they'd committed. Still, despite the brief awkwardness of those first few waking moments, it was impossible to regret. Both of them neglected to mention the bright joy they had both felt. It had been something that perhaps didn't need mentioning. They could see it in eachother; in the moments Quistis would wake up to find Seifer watching her sleepy-eyed, or when Quistis would send Seifer brief, dazzling smiles when no one was around.

They laughed a lot together, which surprised them both. They shared a subtle and dry sense of humour. Quistis was quite taken aback by this. She'd always been aware of the sarcastic, biting humour that Seifer held - particularly when it was directed at Zell – but she had been pleasantly surprised by the fact that he was capable of humour without meanness, that he could be silly without being juvenile. It quickly became one of the things about him that she adored the most.

Seifer found the whole experience baffling and enchanting in equal amounts. He wasn't un-used to beautiful girls or the company of them, but it was a whole new thing to feel this way about one. When he'd been a student, girls had been an enjoyable distraction; it had been fun to make them want him and gossip about him to his friends. In his adolescent mind it had been better to be thought of as a handsome dick than some spineless loser, and he'd relished the mingled attention and the disdain from girls, as well as from the guys who wished they could have been him.

The last girl who had gotten under his skin like this had been Rinoa, although he hadn't been able to get under hers, at least not in the way he had liked. Back then she had been tough and strong-minded. She had been independent, a free spirit, like him. He had respected her. That was the key thing.

He respected Quistis. Much to his surprise and slight resentment, this woman was no pushover. She was no giggling girl that he could reduce to tears or swooning as and when it suited him. This was not a girl who would accept his abuse, kiss his ass and call it ice-cream. He knew full-well that if he attempted his usual flirtations and games with her that she would walk away without so much as a raised eyebrow. There would be no outbursts of tears or pleading affections.

She didn't need him.

Seifer didn't just love her (and yes, it was love, as much as it pained him to admit it to himself) because she was beautiful or witty or intelligent, although those were all remarkable and rare bonuses; he loved her because she was her own person, as independent and stoic and stubborn as he was. He saw his good qualities in her, and none of the bad.

In some kind of unspoken agreement, Seifer and Quistis avoided telling anyone about their relationship. Around Edea or Cid they made no attempts to be affectionate, although it was noticeable now that they didn't argue. They smiled a lot, which couldn't be helped. Even years of military training could not obliterate all behaviours. It was a new experience for both of them, to be with someone who seemingly had no plans to hurt or discard them, and it was impossible to hide their blatant happiness. The cause of their happiness, to everyone else however, was a mystery and they were content to keep it that way, for a while at least.

Quistis always felt Matron eyeing her when she and Seifer were in the same room, and sometimes even when he wasn't. That woman could sense something; Quistis knew it, and it made her distinctly uncomfortable. She knew that Matron didn't mean to make her feel uncomfortable or watched – it was just her way to observe something until she worked it out. Despite this, Quistis knew for a fact that she didn't want anyone poking their wholly unwanted nose into her business. She had always been private, ever since she was a child, and it was a habit that she hadn't managed to shake.

So for now, it was all silence and speculation. And sea salt, from earlier that morning, when Seifer had made love to her in the surf. She could still taste it on her lips and felt a shudder of memory whisper down her spine.

* * *

They lay in bed together late that night, Quistis having crept down the hallway, little feet as soft as a cat's, creaking open Seifer's door with her teeth clenched. He had stared at her in her night-dress, mouth pressed together in the effort of not laughing. Roughly an hour later, the night-dress lay forgotten and sad-looking on the hard wood floor. They were both covered with the bed sheet, their legs sticking out because they were warm and sweaty. Seifer's long, rough fingers were loosely tangled in hers, thumb stroking her hand absent-mindedly.

Quistis turned her head to look at him from the crook of his shoulder. "So, were you ever happy at Garden?"

Seifer paused for a moment and thought about it, calm in the golden light of the little lamp next to the bed. "Sometimes," he finally said. "There were parts of it I liked."

"Like what?"

"Staring at your ass during class, for one," he said, with a crooked grin. Quistis gave a laugh and slapped him jokingly on the arm.

"Be serious," she said.

"I was being serious," Seifer smiled, before pulling a face. "Really though, I liked the fighting side of things. The writing... not so much."

"You were talented though," said Quistis, momentarily reeling at the fact that she just admitted that to Seifer's face. "If only you'd tried harder at the examinations."

Seifer gave a shrug. "It's not for everybody," he said. "I was always happier out in the field, getting to use my physical talents, instead of being stuck in the library with all the dorks. You know. Like you." He sniggered and kissed her forehead, while she made a mock-appalled face. "Problem was," he continued. "I hated taking orders. You may have noticed."

Quistis smiled sardonically, but didn't speak.

"I just couldn't stand some skinny little prick telling me what to do," he said. "I was smarter than half of those assholes, and stronger and faster than most." He paused and looked Quistis straight in the face. "I don't mean to sound like an arrogant prick here," he said. "It's just that half of those instructors or bookworms didn't know their asses from their elbows when it came to real warfare and real human reactions. All they knew was rules from a book and how to follow orders without thinking. I just couldn't do that and I couldn't find it in myself to respect someone who'd just follow orders like that."

"I used to though," said Quistis, in a tone that didn't suggest a fight.

Seifer planned his words carefully. "Yeah..." he said. "But you had balls. You didn't take no shit off anyone, least of all me." He smiled, his hard features softening. "I respected that. Even if I didn't like you – hell, sometimes I downright _loathed_ you – I always respected that about you."

Quistis smiled back, unsure at how to reply to such a comment. A compliment from Seifer – even a backhanded one – was always something of a surprise.

"So what about you," said Seifer, adjusting the quilt around his waist. "Were you ever happy there?"

Quistis pondered. "Sometimes," she said. "It was better than my old foster home." A shadow of old pain past over her face like a cloud going past the moon. "I always found it easy. It was straightforward. You got up at a certain time, you worked, you studied, you ate at a certain time, you had your own space... I guess I liked it. It was stable."

"So what was so bad about your old foster home?"

Quistis didn't appreciate talking about her foster parents. She looked visibly uncomfortable. "Let's just say that the old man took more of a shine to me than was appropriate." Her tone was as cold as the North wind.

Seifer's expression became stony again. "Excuse me? Repeat that for me?"

"You heard," Quistis said, with a shrug.

Seifer shook his head, looking somewhere between disgust and impotent rage. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. A terrible thought occurred to him and he looked at Quistis with a frank, vulnerable horror. "He never...? He didn't...?"

Quistis shook her golden head. "No," she said. "It never came to that, thank Hyne. I guess his wife – my foster mother - saw the way he looked at me once too many times, and that was the end of it. They shipped me out of there before I was thirteen, and I decided that the best place for me was Garden. At least there I knew I'd learn how to defend myself." She was surprised at the look of frank upset on Seifer's face. "He never hurt me, Seifer. He didn't rape me or anything."

Seifer gave an audible sigh of relief. His shoulders sagged and he pulled her a little closer. "I'm so glad," he said, in a voice that she had never heard him use – one of tenderness. His voice reverted to his usual toughness, a barricade for his own feelings. "Good thing ol' son-of-a-bitch didn't. I would've tracked that motherfucker down."

Quistis suppressed a giggle. "Why?" she said. "It was so long ago."

Seifer grinned at her, and for the hundredth time Quistis felt struck by his towering beauty.

"Because you're my girl."

And there it was. Butterflies. Big ones, the size of horses, galloping around her stomach, kicking their legs at the shock and wonder of it all. He kissed her and decimated all words. It wasn't like the first time in the night when they made love. The first time would always be desperate, grasping at their air with their throats on fire, everything a disordered supernova blur. The next time round was slower, sadder, almost, as if they were holding on to something too vibrant for them, too vital. It was intimacy, not just the animal passions of lust, and it unnerved them and enchanted them in equal measure.

By the time it was over, they were exhausted, un-used to the exertions of sex. They weren't teenagers anymore. They were older (although not by much), wiser and jaded. Relationships and sex and all the things that normal twenty-something's did were not part of their usual repertoire. The war had made sure of that.

They had thought that their lot would be a life of brooding and regrets, of flashbacks, till they were the kind of haggard war veteran that teenagers avoided on the street, the kind that made other adults deliberately avoid their gaze.

But instead, at night, in that small room with its small bed and creaking wooden door, a sense of normality reigned. It brought beauty with it.

And youth. _So much youth_. They were afraid they would drown in it.

* * *

_Sorry for the long wait between chapters and sorry for the shortness of this one! I've got two jobs right now, so working writing around the two has been almost impossible. Thanks so much for the lovely reviews though. It means a lot._

_-Lux_


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